i speak to the night and she always speaks back
lending me whispers and words to rend my weaving thoughts
in that moment between dreaming and sleep;
the one that lasts a life age
near the precipice, the one that undesirably breaks you free
ever so slightly
and then suddenly (maybe)
rips you away from the world that melds the real
and unreal
the true and the false
the dream and those harsh undreamt realities
that exist in all times, but never seem real when you’re free of their clutches.
we are one, we are all connected
our synapses are linked, our electrons shared,
our every thought a memory,
shooting through space like lightning
and written in the stars on our darkest of days
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
i speak to the night and she always speaks back
lending me whispers and words to rend my weaving thoughts
in that moment between dreaming and sleep;
the one that lasts a life age
near the precipice, the one that undesirably breaks you free
ever so slightly
and then suddenly (maybe)
rips you away from the world that melds the real
and unreal
the true and the false
the dream and those harsh undreamt realities
that exist in all times, but never seem real when you’re free of their clutches.
we are one, we are all connected
our synapses are linked, our electrons shared,
our every thought a memory,
shooting through space like lightning
and written in the stars on our darkest of days
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